The train from Antwerp to Ghent was slightly delayed, people were walking on the tracks, had been announced. That could mean many things.
Four people entered my compartment and they took the seats next to me, three women in their forties, and a slightly younger man with a big tattoo on his arm, a dolphin.
They talked about a lavish lunch, the reason for the lunch remained a mystery to me, was it a work lunch, a group of friends, but the details with which they went through the three courses bordered on the absurd. (‘The basil was so fresh.’)
Then the conversation switched to swimming pools.
The man said: ‘I just bought a swimming pool. You know a small one, they put it in in your garden and three days later it’s ready.’ I was wondering what kind of swimming pool that would be.
Then he announced with a smirk, ‘I’m ready for a swim.’
There was a silence, the first silence in half an hour or so, after that one of the ladies started complaining about a dirty swimming pool in France, again as detailed as the conversation about the lunch.
It was one of the better performances I’ve seen in quite a while.